


So Many Miles To Go

by spockandawe



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Emotions, Ghost Sex, Guilt, Masturbation, Multi, Possible Character Death, Praise Kink, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 18:01:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11407641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: The yellow mech makes the first move. He nods at you as he draws close. “Windblade,” he says. “We haven’t exactly met. But I’m Bumblebee. Having a rough day?”It turns out that you’re too numb to think either. Because the first thing that comes out of your mouth is, “But you’redead.”He doesn’t laugh at you. Which is better than you deserve. And something’s wrong, you wish you could just think, there’s something horribly obvious here that you aren’t quite piecing together.Bumblebee glances over his shoulder at the room full of mechs. He says, “That’s a fair assessment.” He turns back to you. “And here we are.”You’re still not putting the pieces together. Because you don’t want to. You don’t want to hear that, you don’t— you can’t— How are you even supposed to respond to that? What are you supposed to do? How is anyone supposed to handle hearing that they’re— “I’m not dead,” you whisper.





	So Many Miles To Go

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/162622724316/so-many-miles-to-go-spockandawe-the)

Even before you’re properly aware, you can tell that something’s _wrong._

What’s wrong? You don’t know. Everything? Nothing? You’re— you’re standing in a building. A familiar building. Not Caminus. Cybertron. It’s the government complex. Of course it is, you spend half your days locked up in here, you can recognize it by now. And that’s... wrong. Why is it wrong?

You’re still not quite steady on your feet when you see a pair of mechs rushing down the hallway towards you, and only just barely manage to get out of their way. They don’t even seem to notice, one of them is shouting into a communicator, and the other is scorched all up and down half of her frame. In the distance, you can hear more yelling, and quiet, muffled sounds of destruction.

What are you forgetting? You’re forgetting something, you know you are. You head down the hallways towards the council room. Being in this building is wrong. Or being in— any building? Metroplex. Were you in Metroplex? Yes, but— Why can’t you remember anything? You don’t know what’s happened. Not Metroplex. You, you had been with him. And you left. What then?

_Carcer.  
_

No. _Vigilem._

You’re remembering some things now, all in bits and pieces, but it’s more than you had before. Metroplex being overwhelmed. Elita. The mission. Being chased through the ship’s hallways. You patched into Carcer’s brain module? Yes, you must have, it’s the only way the rest makes sense. And that’s the only way you’d know about Vigilem, of course. Why aren’t you remembering these things? Just trying to think about it is like wading through mud.

And you must have disconnected from Vigilem. That’s the only way you would be here. But you can’t find any memories for that. You don’t know how you got out of there, how you got back to the building, anything that happened. Where is everyone else? Why doesn’t Elita One have you captured? Why were you alone in a back hallway of the complex? Nothing is making sense.

The voices and sounds are getting louder as you draw nearer to the council room. You were so far back in the complex, and you could still hear so much—How much damage have the Titans done? You must have finished them if you disconnected yourself from Carcer—from Vigilem. But you can still hear fighting. You wouldn’t have disconnected before the fight was done. There’s something you’re dancing around in your head.

But that train of thought gets derailed when you turn the corner into the council room. The landscape is littered with dead Titans. Your eyes go straight to Metroplex, lying on the ground. But… moving. He obviously isn’t fully online, but he’s _online_. The rush of relief nearly sends you to your knees. And you’ve _won._ You can see the tiny little spots of color that must be bots taking down the last few moving Titans.

And there’s Vigilem. On his knees. Too still. With no light behind his visor. At this point, you feel like you ought to be more numb to dead Titans. But seeing it still feels like ugly, twisting _wrongness_ in your spark. Not that Vigilem is dead. As much as you hate thinking it, this— This might be one Titan who should be dead. It feels so wrong to be thinking that way. But you can’t forget what it was like, feeling him shove his way into your head, just a crushing, unbearable weight, him bringing more and more of himself to bear on you until you finally buckled—

That’s. Hold on. That’s the last thing you remember. You were fighting him. And losing. You’d _lost,_ he had you, and you didn’t have any way out. And now you’re here? How did you get here? What’s going on?

You turn to the nearest mech and ask, “What’s happened?”

No answer. She completely ignores you and just keeps staring out the window. Which— Fine _,_ yes, that’s interesting, you’re sure, but people here ought to be able to recognize you—

You step in front of her and try again. “Hello? Can you update me on the current situation?”

Not even a twitch. She just keeps looking right past you. Through you. Is something wrong with her?

You raise your voice. _“Hello?”_

She still doesn’t move. And neither does anyone else. They must have heard you by now. You practically shouted that. The mech next to the one is talking on a communicator, he’s clearly fine. He glances your way and you start to ask him what’s going on. But he cuts you off, asking a question to the mech right beside you. She answers him easily enough, and goes back to watching through the window like you aren’t even there.

What’s going on? You— You spot Knock Out and head his way. Knock Out knows you. He’ll answer you.

He doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t react, nothing. Doesn’t… see you?

When you look around, you actually— You aren’t sure that anyone is seeing you. The room is noisy, but you’ve made enough fuss by now, that surely someone must have noticed—? No. They haven’t. You can feel yourself starting to panic. Which is a useless reaction, it won’t help, it’s only going to make things worse, but why can’t anybody _see you?_

Wait. There. There is a yellow mech over in the far corner of the room looking right at you. You don’t think you recognize him. You don’t think so. But your head is spinning too much to be certain. And nobody else—Even if he can see you, why can’t anyone else?

You’re frozen where you are. But he comes right to you, pushing away from the wall and slipping past all the other mechs. You can’t shake the feeling you should know who he is. But you’re locked up too tight to even move, never mind talk.

Fortunately, he makes the first move. He nods at you as he draws close. “Windblade,” he says. “We haven’t exactly met. But I’m Bumblebee. Having a rough day?”

It turns out that you’re too numb to think either. Because the first thing that comes out of your mouth is, “But you’re _dead._ ”

He doesn’t laugh at you. Which is better than you deserve. And something’s wrong, you wish you could just _think,_ there’s something horribly obvious here that you aren’t quite piecing together.

Bumblebee glances over his shoulder at the room full of mechs. He says, “That’s a fair assessment.” He turns back to you. “And here we are.”

You’re still not putting the pieces together. Because you don’t want to. You don’t want to hear that, you don’t— you can’t— How are you even supposed to respond to that? What are you supposed to _do?_ How is anyone supposed to handle hearing that they’re— “I’m not dead,” you whisper.

Bumblebee puts a hand on your arm. “Sorry. It’s rough, but there aren’t too many ways for me to come at a situation this. If you’ve got another account of things, I’d be happy to be proven wrong. But we were just starting to get the reports back from Carcer—”

“Vigilem,” you correct distantly. You try to focus on the room. You can’t make out words no matter how you try, your processor is still spinning, you can’t remember how to focus, how to think _—_ Even without words, you can tell the room doesn’t have quite the same triumphant tone as it did when you came in. Some of it, yes— But there’s an uncomfortable feeling to it now. You can’t quite pin it down.

Bumblebee steps up beside you and points across the room, towards the far side of the window. “Watch Starscream,” he says.

From here, you definitely can’t make out any words, more and more people are trickling into the room and everyone is talking. But you can see the way Starscream’s been carrying his wings so high and excited. You can see the way they go too stiff, the careful way he moves. He doesn’t miss a beat in the conversation, but even from here you can see his face go all flat and unreadable. He snatches a datapad from one of the bots talking to him, flicks through. His face doesn’t change, but his wings aren’t still anymore, there’s a constant twitch and resettle, over and over, much more often than he could need.

You drift a little closer, see if you can tell anything more of what he’s thinking. And for just a single moment, he looks right at you, meets your optics and everything. He’s frozen, you’re frozen, he’s _seeing you,_ you know he is—And he looks away, down at the datapad. After a nanoklik, he turns, so his back is to you.

You don’t—You don’t understand that reaction. But Bumblebee comes up beside you, and you’re too excited to worry about that. Because, “He saw me! Starscream, he, he looked at me, he knew I was here.”

“Yes,” Bumblebee says, carefully. “I’d been wondering about that. Because guess which bot is the only person who’s been able to see me for the last few years.”

“ _Starscream?”_ You step forward to peer through the crowd of mechs. “But why?”

Bumblebee shrugs. “Would be real nice to know that. Maybe we offended Primus and this is our eternal punishment?”

That does get a little laugh out of you. You edge around the cluster of bots, trying to get a decent look at Starscream’s face. Someone—Someone rushes _right through you_ , fast enough that you don’t have time to linger over how it feels, but your fuel tank turns at the idea of just, just _overlapping_ with someone like that.

“Are you sure it’s just him, though? Have you tried—”

“Every single bot I’ve encountered since this happened? Yes, and no luck. And no decent theories on why it’s playing out like this either. None of the pieces seem to fit together. Honestly, this just makes it even more confusing. How many mechs have died now that haven’t shown up here? It’s impressive how little of this makes sense.”

“Hm.”

You can see Starscream’s face now. He’s listening to almost half a dozen mechs giving him reports all at once. Even though you aren’t panicking like before, you can’t make heads or tails of what they’re saying. They’re all talking over each other and your processor is spinning just trying to follow along. Carcerian forces are deployed— A full reboot of Metroplex’s autonomic processes is ready to begin— Medics have established an emergency facility— Stabilizing damaged structures in the city— It’s too much to follow.

But Starscream seems to be doing just fine. He doesn’t even look rattled. He looks _tired,_ but not rattled. He’s even managing to give orders in the rare pauses in the reports. He sends bots running off to divert crews from combat into reconstruction, sends repair teams and all available cityspeakers to Metroplex (a tension drops from you that you hadn’t even realized you were carrying), sends other mechs off to establish and secure a supply chain for the medics down near the combat zone. It’s… certainly something to watch him work. As impossibly busy as things have been with the restoration of Iacon, and as dire they were when the Titans began to descend, nothing compared to the chaos that apparently comes with the end of a battle. You wouldn’t have thought it of him, but he seems perfectly at ease.

You glance over at Bumblebee. “This is— _different—_ ” And you see Starscream’s wings twitch when you talk, but he doesn’t so much as glance your way.

“Different for Starscream, you mean?” Bumblebee steps in closer and sighs. “He’s like this... sometimes. Shame he’s not like this _often,_ but it is something to watch when it does happen.”

You turn back to Starscream. No matter how you listen, you can’t keep track of more than one or two threads of conversation before you get lost. And he’s still refusing to look at you. So you can’t resist adding, “He could accomplish so much more—”

That gets you a bigger twitch in the wings, but no more reaction than that. You don’t even see his expression change. It’s beneath you, it’s utterly inappropriate for a time like this, but if he would just _look at you—_

Bumblebee lifts his hands in surrender. “Not arguing. But he’s best at his best when he’s handling… chaos. Chaos and emergencies. I doubt it would be good if things were this bad all the time.”

You raise your voice, just the smallest bit, when you say, “It might be worth it.” But Starscream ignores you entirely this time.

And when you turn back towards Bumblebee, he’s looking thoughtfully between you and Starscream. Your plating heats. That was. Not subtle on your part. But if he would only just admit that you’re here _—_

 _Change the subject._ “So he knows we exist.”

Bumblebee shifts uncomfortably. “Kind of.”

You glance back at Starscream. Still ignoring you. “But he looked at me. And you said— That doesn’t make sense. He is seeing us, you said he is. How does he _kind of_ know we’re here?”

“It’s... complicated.” He rubs the bridge of his nose, “Right. Okay. So, Starscream. A mech under just a little bit of stress. You agree?”

You cross your arms. “I suppose.”

“A mech who isn’t the best at finding healthy ways to deal with that, you think?”

“ _Absolutely._ ”

Bumblebee spreads his arms wide. “A mech who thinks that ghosts aren’t real, and the stress is just making him hallucinate?”

You’re quiet for two nanokliks waiting for the punchline. It doesn’t come. “You’re not serious.”

“Unfortunately, I am. I’ve been working on this for a long time now, with no luck.”

What are you even supposed to say to that? You turn to stare at Starscream. “He thinks we’re made up.”

“That’s right.”

“Even though we’re— I’m _me,_ I don’t think a made-up version of me would— This doesn’t even begin to make sense, why is easier to believe that he’s hallucinating people?”

Bumblebee steps up beside you. “It’s remarkable how hard it is to argue when all you get in reply is ‘that sounds like something a hallucination would say.’”

“That’s stupid. _He’s_ stupid. Especially when he’s standing right here, right across from us, and he can _see us,_ _Starscream,_ _don’t even pretend you can’t—”_

Starscream finally reacts, but only to give Bumblebee a pointed look. Bumblebee sighs and pats you on the shoulder. “He can’t hear over us. He wants us to quiet down.”

“Funny, if we were imaginary people, you’d think he’d be able to hear _past_ us or something—”

“Hey, hey.” He nudges your shoulder just hard enough that you turn and look down at him. “I get it. Promise. But it might be better not to push it right now. Let him listen now and you can give him a piece of your mind later.”

“Why? It isn’t like he’s the sort to hold petty, useless grudges or anything—” You cut yourself off, shut your mouth tight and try to center yourself.

Bumblebee takes his hand from your shoulder, but gives your arm a reassuring pat on the way down. “Besides, if we listen in too, we can get some good news now without counting on him to tell us which way is up later.”

That’s… true. That is true. And is easier to take than just being told to be quiet.

You’re still having a hard time keeping track of anything with all these separate conversations happening all at once, but as the chaos slowly eases, you’re able to follow along better. You latch on to any mention of Metroplex. Preliminary reports suggest that he hasn’t sustained any permanent damage, but getting him up and running again may take some time. You’re aching to get in there with the other cityspeakers, and it’s so frustrating to know that you can’t. They might have more experience than you, but they know Caminus, and maybe some of them are beginning to know Navitas. None of them know _Metroplex_ the way you do.

Mechs keep coming and going, and after a few of them have walked right through you—which never stops being incredibly disorienting—you retreat towards the window, out of the way. You still listen, you want to know everything that’s happened and you don’t trust Starscream to give you a full, honest report. But you also look out over what you can see of the city and surrounding area. You shouldn’t be able to see much of the surrounding area, but there are just so, so many buildings in ruins.

You count Titan corpses, add in what you remember from when you were with Metroplex, then try to piece together the little bits and pieces you’re starting to recall from Vigilem— And you shy away from that. Everything you can remember of the fight with the Titans is twisted together with what you remember from the fight in your head, that overwhelming, incomprehensibly huge presence, so much like Metroplex. Until he took notice of you and brought all that force and weight to bear, pushing harder and harder at you until you finally snapped—

You’re pulled out of that train of thought by the sound of Chromia’s voice. You whip around, but she’s not here in person, it’s just over comms. And she’s reporting on what happened inside Vigilem. It hurts to hear how flat and dull her voice is. She says that Metroplex let her out and sent her to protect you, and it hurts even more that you can’t be with him now, helping bring him back online. It’s hard to listen as Chromia talks. When she reports on the connection between you and the Titan being severed, during a full merge… yes. Yes, that would almost definitely be fatal.

Your processor is spinning too much for you to even process the rest of her words. You see Starscream give you a quick glance, so there, he’s finally acknowledging you, but you can’t even think well enough to decide how you feel about that. All you can do is look helplessly back at him. You don’t want to be dead, you can’t be dead, and, and Chromia— You need to go to Chromia. And Metroplex. There are so many things you still need to do, you _can’t_ have died—

Bumblebee steps in front of you, and you jerk backward. You still aren’t quite managing words, all you can do is look helplessly at him instead. He studies you for a moment, and then reaches out and sets his hand on your arm. He says, “Come on, you don’t need to be listening to this right now,” and guides you off to the far side of the room.

You’re still locked up too tight. When you finally manage to say something, you only burst out with, “So I’m either made up or I’m _dead?”_

Bumblebee holds up his hands. “Don’t focus on that right now.”

“But—”

“What’s something else you’d rather think about? Like… Metroplex. Do you have any information you’d want to pass on to the cityspeakers working on him right now?”

You know it’s a barefaced attempt to distract you. And it works. Because _Primus_ do you have things to say. You immediately start rattling off the specific details of the shutdown you carried out, and the most critical damage he sustained. The physical damage, that should be obvious enough, but you’re nervous about damage to his somatic nervous system. His sense of balance was starting to go before you shut him down, and if he’s brought back online without that being fixed, there’s going to be risk if he moves or transforms, and most of the cityspeakers only have experience with Caminus, who doesn’t have that kind of autonomous movement anymore. And his vestibular system isn’t even designed like the ones you studied on Caminus, you had to work out the particulars on your own, so there aren’t resources for the cityspeakers to reference while they carry out repairs—

Bumblebee’s optics glaze over a few nanokliks in, but you can’t quite manage to stop talking. Eventually, you do manage to cut yourself off, and finish with, “...which doesn’t mean anything to you.”

He shrugs. “If we can make Starscream listen, we might be able to pass it along through him. If we’re lucky, we might even be able to get him to forge some documents with your name on them.”

That— helps. That really does help. And from over here, away from the action, you can really see that the room is much less busy than it was before. There are fewer mechs around, the entire room is quieter, and everything is much more calm. You realize with a start that the sun is nearly down. Wasn’t it only just midday? Where did all the time go?

Bumblebee is surveying the room too. “I’m guessing this will wrap up soon. It looks like the main priorities are medical treatment and reconstruction, and those will run more smoothly with just on-site command. And I’m pretty sure Starscream knows that too.”

The two of you drift back over as mechs trickle out of the room. Starscream is listening to a report on Metroplex’s spacebridge—apparently Wheeljack nearly has it up and running already—and the resources that have been offered by the colonies. Starscream gives a quick warning look to you and Bumblebee as you get closer, but neither of you is talking, he doesn’t need to be like that. He lays out a list of priorities to take care of once the spacebridge is functional. Sending injured mechs able to move under their own power off to those worlds for less urgent treatment, bringing additional medics and medical supplies here to treat the worst injured, materials and equipment for construction, equipment and mechs to begin dismantling Titans for additional supplies, energon for the mechs still stationed planetside. And more, you’re barely keeping up with him with how quickly he’s listing all of it off.

And then somebody reports that cityspeaker Windblade has been brought to the temporary medical facility at—

You don’t even catch the rest of that sentence. Your wings are practically straight up in the air and shaking with how excited you are. You point at the mech giving the report and stare at Bumblebee. He shrugs, but he’s smiling. You turn to Starscream, and he’s still pretending you aren’t here, because that’s how _mature_ mechs act. And you step in even closer and keep pointing at the mech, because you’re apparently as mature as he is. He isn’t acknowledging you, but he’s hearing those words too. You aren’t dead. If they’re bringing you to the medics, _you aren’t dead._

You don’t process much of what happens after that. Starscream keeps dealing with reports and issuing orders even as the room empties out further and further. It’s entirely dark outside by the time it ends. There’s only one other mech left in the room. Starscream is giving her orders to streamline the squads of fast, lightweight fliers, everyone who can be spared, who have been going over all the downed Titans and disconnecting their brain modules be sure they’re permanently offlined, with squads of heavier hitters on hand in case some of the Titans are still functioning. You can’t follow the details he’s rattling off about scheduling and shifts, but you suppose the mech he’s talking to does, because she goes running off to execute the orders, and then Starscream is alone.

Bumblebee says, “Busy day.”

Starscream doesn’t even look at him. “Can’t you even do me the decency of waiting until we’re out of public?”

He turns and heads for the door, with Bumblebee falling into step easily beside him. “You did a good job. That was a bad situation, and you handled it well.”

“Oh, good. You know I _live_ for your approval.”

You’re following along behind them, but you move up closer, edge past Starscream’s wing so you can catch his optics. “You think I’m not real.”

Starscream doesn’t answer at all, though you can see his mouth tighten.

Bumblebee winces and says, “Don’t--”

But you’re already talking. “You _don’t_ think I’m real. You think I’m made up. Even though you know what happened, everything with Vigilem, you know I showed up right after that. And you _still_ don’t think I’m me.”

More ignoring. There’s an awkward silence while you just keep staring at him. You glance at Bumblebee, but he’s watching Starscream too.

Finally, Bumblebee sighs. “I’m going to go ahead and hazard a guess that what he’s refusing to say is that you’re not one hundred percent dead, since they took you to the medics. So you can’t be a ghost.”

“Right, but— The connection was broken while I was completely tied in with Vigilem. I suppose there might be a slight, _slight_ chance they could save me from that. But even if my spark didn’t shut down from the shock, even if they eventually manage to bring me back online, I’m effectively processor-dead right now. I’m not _in_ there. So why can’t I be here?”

Even more not-answering.

Bumblebee says, “Sure, but he’s already got me as a counter-example. I mean, he’s _wrong._ But he thinks that I’m not real either, even though I did pretty definitively die, and came back right afterwards. So if he’s still thinking I’m a figment of his imagination, he’s not going to treat that as an actual argument in your favor.”

You’re still walking along beside Starscream, not taking your optics from his face. “Then what is it, he thinks he came up with us all on his own? He thinks he was able to make us both up from scratch?”

“Well—”

“Why would he think that makes any sense? When I’m acting like this? Why wouldn’t he come up with some version of me who agreed with every single thing he said? And do you agree with everything he does?”

“No, but listen—”

“If you look at this with any kind of critical thought, it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t accomplish anything, and it’s just an excuse for him to tell us that we aren’t really people so he doesn’t have to listen to what we say!”

You’ve been getting so worked up that you hadn’t even noticed you’ve arrived at Starscream’s quarters. He opens the door and steps inside, still without so much as glancing your way. But when the door shuts behind him, he turns to you and says, “Perhaps I’d prefer not to undermine my own authority by making a production of having an argument with thin air in the public hallways. Perhaps any kind of _critical thought_ might have helped you reach that conclusion.”

You wince, but press your point. “If I was some imagined version of myself, why would I be acting like this? Why would you make that up? Why am I not bowing and scraping and praising every last decision you make?”

Bumblebee moves between you, his hands raised. “Windblade, hold on.”

Starscream laughs, short and angry. “Oh no, don’t mind _me._ ”

Bumblebee looks back over his shoulder at him. “You’re not helping either.”

“Of course I am, I _live_ to serve.” He steps forward, right through Bumblebee, until he’s standing nose to nose with you. “Don’t you know? Didn’t he bother to tell you? You’re both manifestations of old _guilt._ And I’m just fortunate enough to be forced to deal with you while my mind splinters. And believe me, it feels just _wonderful_ every time one of you forces me to say that out loud.”

It— It knocks the wind right out of you. You completely lose your train of thought. He watches you for a moment with a tight, bitter smile, then turns and walks away. You look helplessly at Bumblebee for a nanoklik, but he just shrugs. He doesn’t look happy either.

You chase after Starscream. “Wait—” You grab for his shoulder, but your hand goes right through him. “Starscream, _w_ _ait!_ ”

He takes his time turning to face you, and you know he’s doing it just to bother you.

“You don’t get to claim the _guilt_ over me,” you tell him. “I made that decision. I _volunteered._ It was my idea, I chose to go in there, and it was the only option we had.”

He sneers. “Don’t be so naive. I knew I was sending you off to die.”

“I knew I was going off to die! You don’t— You don’t get to take credit for that when it was _my decision._ ”

He flicks his wings dismissively. “You’re repeating yourself.”

“And I know things you don’t know. I can prove it. I can prove you didn’t make me up, you can’t give me information _you_ don’t have.”

That makes him pause for a moment. You take the opportunity to get in front of him, blocking the door to his berth chamber. He crosses his arms, looks you up and down, and says, “Tell me where attacks on Caminus would cause the most disruption and take away their ability to muster a defense. Tell me the most effective way to offline Navitas. Tell me how I can reprogram Metroplex to be unconditionally loyal to me.”

You’re speechless. All you can do is stare at him, your moth hanging open.

He laughs, says, “I thought so,” and walks forward straight through you.

Bumblebee is trying to get your attention. You ignore him, and turn to go after Starscream again. “I’m sure it’s easy to confirm all of the most insupportable theories you can come up with when you ask for information you know I’d never give you— Look, can you just— Starscream, _look at me!_ ”

He makes you wait before he finally turns your way. Again. And the look on his face is so disdainful you just want to _scream._

Slow ventilation. “Metroplex. I need to pass along the details of the damage he sustained while I was still with him.”

“Terribly novel information, I’m _sure._ It isn’t as though I just spent several solid cycles listening to reports about this. And it certainly isn’t as though I have optics.”

You grind your teeth. “Yes, but for repairs it needs to be reported in the context of his individual frame and construction. I was just telling Bumblebee, his vestibular system—”

Starscream waves a hand, cutting you off. “You’ve told me in the past, then.”

“What? What, no that doesn’t make any sense, I haven’t told you about this—”

“You’ve mentioned it in the past and I’m filling the information into this conversation now. But do go on, I’m sure you’ll be very convincing.”

The words are knocked right out of you for a moment. “How am I supposed to prove anything if you’re just going to say nonsense like _that?”_

Before he can say anything, Bumblebee steps in, one hand on your arm, one hovering just in front of Starscream’s arm. He looks over at you. “Told you. It’s incredible how easy it is to derail conversations with ‘that sounds like something a hallucination would say.’”

It’s idiotic. It’s unfair. It’s _infuriating_ is what it is. And Starscream is smiling all smug and stupid like he’s made some sort of clever point. You look down, reset your optics, take a moment to run a slow vent cycle. And then you say, “The Mistress of Flame has a weld mark on her right inner thigh.”

When you look up, Bumblebee and Starscream are both staring at you. You are, perhaps, a little pleased with yourself.

“So there,” you add.

After a moment, Starscream tries, “I could have seen that on my own.”

“It’s up high, just below where her plating opens for the hip joint.” You start to look down to hide your smile, but… no. Starscream gets to see _exactly_ how much you’re winning. You lock optics with him. “I never knew you’d been examining her inner thighs so closely.”

He flares up, hot and angry, his wings held high, and takes a half step towards you. You’re grinning, just _waiting_ for him— And then he moves right through Bumblebee’s arm. That’s. Oh. Right, the whole. _That._

The moment deflates. You mutter, “Anyways. If you look for that, it’ll prove that I’m me.”

He backs away, his optics still on you for a long moment before he turns and steps off across the room. “Wonderful. My subconscious is trying to bait me into causing a diplomatic incident.”

You’re already opening your mouth to reply when Bumblebee catches your attention. He mouths _not now_ , and you wilt. You could really, really be handling this more gracefully. Out loud, Bumblebee says, “You both had a long day. I’m pretty sure this conversation will go better if we put it off until things have quieted down a little. That sound reasonable?”

“Fine,” you say.

There’s silence. Bumblebee says, “Starscream?”

He snorts. “I’m sure I’ll have plenty of choice in the matter.”

Bumblebee takes a few steps towards him. “I’m sure you’re ignoring the times I’ve done my best to respect your wishes.”

“And _I’m_ sure you’re ignoring all the times you’ve known what I wanted, and still decided to go ahead and do whatever you pleased.”

“Yes, because you’ve never needed someone to say the things you didn’t want to hear, or decided that keeping yourself functional wasn’t important enough to deal with—” Bumblebee cuts himself off and rubs his forehead. “And now you’ve got me doing it too. I’m not going to be pulled into a fight over this. Look, you need to either eat or sleep. Choose one.”

Starscream ignores him. You drift a little closer.

Bumblebee keeps his optics on Starscream. The silence stretches out uncomfortably long. Bumblebee crosses his arms, but Starscream isn’t even looking his way.

“You can even go for a flight if you want. Pick something. It isn’t doing any good if you sit around all night staring at the walls and ignoring me, and it’s doing even less good if you collapse in the middle of a crisis because you can’t be bothered to keep up with basic self-maintenance.”

More silence from Starscream.

He does look tired. Or rather, he looked tired when you showed up after—after Vigilem. Now, he just looks _exhausted._ And you realize that you never saw him refuel at all during the day. Does he have an energon tap in here? You hadn’t seen one, but you suppose perhaps it’s hidden somewhere.

Bumblebee looks your way. “Welcome to our existence. Aren’t you just so happy to be here?”

You move in a little closer to get a better look at Starscream. He pointedly ignores you too. “He is tired,” you say to Bumblebee. You lean forward until you’re definitely in Starscream’s field of vision. “You _are_ tired. Go get some recharge. Go refuel and then get some recharge. Things are going to start early tomorrow, you need to take a break while you have the chance.”

And… you are still being ignored. He’s acting like you and Bumblebee aren’t even here. You don’t believe the act for a moment, but in a way, that just makes it even more infuriating that he’s treating you this way.

Bumblebee steps around you to peer at Starscream’s face too. “His days always start early. Food or sleep or not. I’m trying to tell him that this has been an especially draining day, and there’s still plenty to sort out, so it’s _even more important_ that he’s functioning at full capacity tomorrow—”

Starscream finally moves, but it’s only to turn away from both of you and move to the other side of the room. You start to follow at first, but Bumblebee holds up a hand to stop you.

“He is tired,” you mutter. You’re repeating yourself.

Bumblebee crosses his arms again. “I’m not arguing. He’s always tired, and does he do anything to deal with it? Anything at all? Anything like, say, actually lying down to recharge? Go ahead, take a guess.”

You shoot Starscream an alarmed glance. “Then— Maybe he should go see a medic—”

“Suggested it months ago. And plenty of times since then. Guess how much luck I’ve had.”

“ _Starscream,”_ you say. No response. He’s still ignoring you.

Bumblebee says, “At least after he said no a couple dozen times, he was gracious enough to explain that it’s because he can’t trust the medics. So what will you do if you get hurt or sick, I asked. What a nice, basic question that he still hasn’t bothered to answer.”

You’re getting more and more worried every klik. “ _This_ could be sick— He could be ill right now.” You’re running through what you know about Titan sicknesses in your head, but you don’t know how much would even apply here, Titan self-repair is much so more robust than it is for average mechs. “I’ve never had an issue with Flatline, even once. Besides, Starscream trusted him to work on Superion, didn’t he? Or, or one of the colony medics, most of the colonies still think the world of him, _somehow,_ I’m sure they could—”

Bumblebee shakes his head, still watching Starscream. He looks irritated, but it’s an… exhausted irritated. “Trust me, I’ve been trying. No luck. And go ahead, just try to figure out whether he’s willing to see a medic over the fuel issues either. _Or_ the transformation issues.”

“Recharge, fuel, _and_ transformation?” You’re—aghast. How long has this been going on? Anyone with half a brain knows those are the two main pillars of self-maintenance, and you remember how awful it was being in space when you were stuck on a ship without room to use your wings just for a _short_ while. “Starscream, you need to—” You raise your voice. “Starscream, you need to make an appointment with a medic!”

He ignores you. _Again._

You turn to Bumblebee. “If he can’t transform, that’s, that’s something a medic can definitely fix. It’s probably something as simple as his transformation cog being out of alignment. It’s not any sort of weakness, it can happen to anyone, and it isn’t—”

But Bumblebee is shaking his head again. “No, no. He can transform. Just like he can refuel. And he can recharge. It’s that he _isn’t_ doing it. Just look at today. Four million years I’ve been in a war with him, and you could always count on him taking any opportunity to be on the front lines himself and get involved in the fighting. But then today, he’s sending squads out to inspect the Titans, even though we’re short on personnel? Go back even just a few years and he would have been leading the squads himself.”

And Starscream finally rounds on both of you. “Are you _quite_ finished yet? Anything else you’d like to go over? It isn’t enough to have one of you hounding me day and night. Because it certainly couldn’t be possible that I’m aware of any of this on my own, oh no. Now I’m fortunate enough to have _two_ of you, so you can have these conversations over my head, any time you please. I’m sure it will make my life so much more pleasant. Will I ever be able to hear another council meeting over all the fussing over my goodness, does Starscream realize he _doesn’t get much recharge?_ But do go on, I’m certain that listening to this conversation go around in circles this will be a much more productive use of my time than any of that governing nonsense I’ve been wasting my attention on.”

You can’t help taking a step back as he stalks closer to you and Bumblebee. Your wings are low and tight to your body. You’ve seen him angry before, you _have_. But this is— This is different. It’s _wrong._ You don’t like it.

Bumblebee holds his ground even as Starscream looms over him. He looks him steadily in the optic and says, “Go get some fuel.”

“ _No.”_

You edge forward again. You’re not going to let him intimidate you. This isn’t _healthy._ “Where’s his energon tap?”

Bumblebee says, “There isn’t one in the quarters. Too much risk of external tampering when he has a dedicated pipeline, he says.”

“See,” Starscream sneers. “No fuel to be had. Hasn’t this been a _wonderfully_ productive use of our time?”

Your wings droop a little. You thought there might be some way you could have needled him into eating at least a little.

Bumblebee gives you an amused sideways look. “Of course, he’s conveniently not mentioning the… fourteen? I think it’s fourteen. Fourteen stashes of energon in secret compartments in just this room.”

Starscream’s wings flare even wider, and you see his fists clench. He’s in so close that he’s practically nose to nose with Bumblebee. “Those aren’t for eating. And the purpose of secret compartments, shockingly, is to keep things _secret._ ”

“Energon not for eating, just for having,” Bumblebee says. He still hasn’t budged. “Of course. How could I forget. And for someone who keeps insisting we aren’t real, you really do seem to think that secrets are any kind of meaningful concept. If you’re going to be an aft about this, then you can at least go and try to get some recharge. It should be a nice change of pace, you can spend your night being an aft about that instead.”

Starscream glares at him for a moment longer, then turns and stalks away. “Lovely. Something I’ve never tried. What an exotic new solution. It will be just like every other night you’ve browbeaten me into submission. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to spending cycles staring at the ceiling. But don’t worry, I’m sure that _this_ time it will work.”

You really ought to back off a little. It’s not right for you to push yourself into the middle of this. But you still start with, “Have you tried—?”

“Probably,” says Bumblebee.

You wince, just a little. This is clearly an old argument that you’re wading into. You barely even know what you’re talking about. But at least Bumblebee is looking at Starscream with that exasperated expression, and not at you. All while Starscream goes back to pretending the two of you don’t exist, of course.

Bumblebee goes on. “I’ve been over every trick for getting into recharge that I remember from in the war—which is plenty, let me tell you. And it’s amazing what you can get him to do if you’re persistent and just refuse to drop an issue for a week or three.” He sighs. “I even got him to go look up more doctor-free solutions on the net once or twice, before he decided his console usage is possibly being monitored, and he can’t afford to have the information leak that he’s having problems.”

You really ought to let this drop. It’s just that you can’t stop _fretting._ No, it looks like the best plan is to keep on suggesting whatever pops into your mind without giving it even a nanoklik of consideration, that way you can keep making a fool of yourself. But you watch Starscream pacing on the other side of the room, his wings tight and angry, and you just can’t let this go.

So on the note of making a fool of yourself and suggesting incredibly obvious solutions, you ask, “Has he tried an overload?”

Starscream freezes. Bumblebee freezes. And both of them turn to stare at you.

Your plating heats, but you refuse to let it show on your face “What? It— Overloads relieve stress, they release beneficial chemicals, they— There are plenty of things they do.” You shift. “It’s what works best for _me._ ”

And now Starscream and Bumblebee turn to give each other that same look.

The silence stretches out. You try not to look too embarrassed. But is this— Are _they_ the embarrassed ones?

When you get a good look at Starscream’s face, you know that’s _exactly_ it. You muffle a laugh as best as you can. So, not very well. “Are all Cybertronians this shy?” You know you’re not exactly constructively contributing to the conversation, but you can’t help yourself. “Interfacing is a healthy part of life, you know. It’s not some deep, dark secret you have to hide away. And there isn’t anything wrong with self-service either. Cybertronians… _do_ interface, don’t they?”

Bumblebee begins, “Yes, we—” before trailing off helplessly. He looks over at Starscream, then back to you. He shakes himself and asks, “Are all Camiens this… open?”

You’re doing less and less well at holding back your laughter. “If you’re still asking that, I don’t think you’ve talked to many Camiens.”

They both still look completely lost, and it’s the best thing you’ve ever seen. You can’t look away from Starscream’s face.

“You ought to brace yourselves before you deal with the colonists from Carcer too. I thought you just didn’t care when Strika invited me to spend a night or two on board their ship, but did— did you just not understand? I think the Velocitronians tend to be a little more circumspect, but everyone else—” Starscream’s face isn’t moving at all, but it’s still somehow the funniest thing you’ve ever seen and you can’t stop laughing. “You never realized. All this happening right in front of your face, and you _never realized._ ”

It takes all your strength to pull yourself back under control, but you somehow manage. “So,” you say. “I can’t be made up. You didn’t know any of that. So there.”

“I _might_ have known,” he weakly protests.

“That’s a ridiculous argument and you should feel ridiculous.”

He steps up closer, and you hold your ground. You’re smiling and he’s so close you could just reach out and _touch_ him— But then you remember. Your smile fades a little.

You say, “Anyways. You should try having an overload and seeing if it helps you recharge. Have you tried it?”

He sneers disdainfully and turns away. “An overload? I wouldn’t know what that is.”

Your mouth hangs open for a moment. “Are you really doing this?” You turn to Bumblebee, “Is he _really_ doing this? _”_ You don’t wait for an answer before you turn back to Starscream. “That was just sad. If you’re going to sulk, you can do better than that. _Or._ Alternately. You could just go get on your berth and prove me wrong.”

He’s still not budging. Is he… _pouting?_ This is the best thing you’ve ever seen. The best worst thing. Though— From this close you can also see how exhausted he really looks. And when you drop your optics from his face, you can see that there’s a faint tremor running through his hands. That isn’t you, you don’t think. You haven’t done anything to make him _shake._ Is this because of the recharge? Or because he needs fuel?

But you’ve stared too long, and he’s noticed you watching. His hands clench tight into fists, and you jump guiltily, and lock optics with him again.

You don’t know what to say, and Starscream isn’t saying anything either, but thank Primus, Bumblebee cuts in and breaks the uncomfortable silence.

“Just get one of your toys and give it a try,” he says.

At least Starscream is glaring at him now, not you. You take a little half step backwards, just—just a little more space. Just a tiny bit. And Starscream is still sulking, because he doesn’t answer Bumblebee either.

Bumblebee says, “Give it a rest, you aren’t impressing anybody. Get a toy, have an overload, and hopefully get some recharge for a change. Get that blue spike of yours, you like that one.”

Starscream turns and paces away, with a snide little flick of his wings. “Lovely. Go ahead, just keep ordering me to perform for an audience. Everything I’ve always dreamed of.”

“Are we real or aren’t we?” snaps Bumblebee. “Make up your mind. That’s a rhetorical question, because I already know the answer is whatever’s most convenient for you.”

You edge back a little further towards the door. “I can go—”

Bumblebee waves you forward. “Don’t bother. Go ahead and just ask him if he’d rather be alone. He’ll just look angry and refuse to give you an answer. Because if he says yes, you leave and he loses. If he says no, you win _and_ he still loses.” He raises his voice a little. “And I’m pretty sure he’s not going to break that pattern even to spite me. Isn’t that right?”

Starscream refuses to even acknowledge Bumblebee, but the sheer indignation in his wings is almost enough to make you laugh. You choke it back, you don’t want to ruin things now, but Bumblebee catches your optics and gives you a meaningful look and you almost lose control.

Though you do say, “If he has toys that he’s used and it hasn’t worked before, this might not help anything—”

But Bumblebee is already shaking his head. “He’s barely touched them for months. And even before that, he’d never lie down afterwards, he’d be up and pacing or going through datapads. This might make a difference.”

Bumblebee steps over to Starscream. More quietly, he says, “Just give it a try. What’s the worst that happens? Business as usual, but at least you’ve had an overload.”

You’re edging up closer too. You see Starscream’s shoulders slump with—resignation, you think? That makes your spark twist uneasily, seeing him that way. But Bumblebee is at least smiling up at him now, and they’re close enough that you think they’d be touching if they could.

“Go get a toy,” he repeats. “The blue one would be good.”

“Get the _best_ toy,” you add before you can think better of it. Then you wince. Starscream probably _won’t_ get the best one now, just because it’s you doing the asking. Because you know _precisely_ how immature he is.

And Bumblebee isn’t helping either, because he’s saying, “That’s the blue spike, then. It’s big, it vibrates, it’s textured—”

So now Starscream definitely won’t be using it. Is what you’re guessing from the sideways look he shoots your way.

But Bumblebee is making some gestures that you missed when you were distracted and wait, wait, “ _How_ big?”

He looks thoughtfully down at your arm. “At least the size of your wrist, I’d say.”

Your head whips around over to Starscream. “You can’t take something _that_ large.”

He doesn’t say a word, but the insufferably smug look he’s giving you is more than enough of an answer.

Starscream turns back to Bumblebee and asks, “Where was that one again?”

Bumblebee taps his chin. “The compartment beneath your desk, wasn’t it? No, no, wait— It’s in the one just to the left of your console.”

You hang back a little, trying at least look like you aren’t so excited about this happening. Considering all the—Considering everything that’s happened today. You didn’t expect to have anything nice to distract you at all. But not only do you have something else to thinking about, but you have something like this to keep you busy. Something where you’ve been thinking about it _forever_ , but you were positive it would never come true. Because Starscream is the most impossibly difficult mech you’ve ever had the misfortune to meet. You can’t believe this is _happening._

So you’re trying not to hover too close (and failing) while Starscream presses a single rivet in the wall, and a panel of metal shifts outwards just enough that he can catch the edge and open the compartment. And the compartment is barely large enough to hold the false spike inside—But it is still definitely not a _small_ compartment.

Starscream is pretending like he’s ignoring you as he picks it up and turns it over in his hands. Looking at the ridges and texturing makes you shiver. But you’re trying to get a look at the controls on the base, and his hands are in the way and you can’t _see,_ and can tell he’s doing that on purpose. He shuts the compartment, turns, and slowly walks to the berth, still acting like he doesn’t know you’re there or like you aren’t _part_ of this. Even though he’s still being the most immature mech you’ve ever met and not letting you see the toy.

He sits himself down on the very edge of the berth, and you step him to stand beside him. You don’t know what to do with your hands. You want— You want to touch him, _something,_ where he has to acknowledge that you’re here with him. And Bumblebee, you belatedly remember, as he moves to Starscream’s other side.

Starscream’s legs are parted, but he isn’t doing anything about it. Just. Turning the false spike over in his hands, looking at it. He’s doing this on purpose, you’re almost sure. He just wants to make you ask for it. Which you aren’t going to do. Probably. You think. Honestly, it might be worth letting him have that point, just because of how badly you want to see that toy _in_ him. But on the other hand, he’s always the absolute _worst_ whenever he thinks he’s winning—

And it doesn’t help that you can’t tell if you’re imagining that slight sideways look as he watches you struggle, or the beginnings of a smirk on his face. You’re still wrestling with the decision when Bumblebee finally breaks the silence.

“Go ahead,” he says.

Starscream drops one hand between his legs and you can’t help an overeager half step even further forward, so close you’d be leaning on his thigh if you could actually touch him. His hand lingers for a moment, his fingers resting lightly against his plating—and he takes it away. He leans forward, his elbow braced on his knee, his chin on his hand, and looks at Bumblebee.

He says, “I’m not certain about this.” The way he sighs is embarrassingly overacted. “I’m not feeling terribly _appreciated_ right now.”

Your first instinct is to snap at him. Which is exactly why you sit hard on that reaction. It’s what he wants.

Bumblebee laughs. “What are you after?”

There is nothing subtle about the way he’s watching you from the corner of his optic. For a moment, you grit your teeth. But. You know what? _Fine._

One slow ventilation to wipe the irritation from your face, and— “You’re looking for appreciation?”

It takes Starscream by surprise, which is almost worth this just on its own. He pauses, uncertain, and you move away from his side to stand in front of him, nearly between his legs.

“Then I’ve been neglecting you,” you say. “What is it you were wanting to hear? Did you want me to tell you how gorgeous you are? I thought that went without saying, but I really shouldn’t have assumed.”

He’s lost. He is _completely_ lost. You don’t lose any ground by being honest with him. There isn’t any shame in admitting you want this. You’re being more honest about this than he is. More mature. Which means you’re _winning._

“Did you want me to tell you just how much I want this? Because I certainly do, very much so. Or maybe you want to hear how _long_ I’ve wanted it? It has been a while. I don’t know how I was supposed to see you and _not_ want you.” You look him up and down, nice and slow, before letting your optics settle on the toy. Do you gamble—? You decide to risk it and tease, “Even getting to know you didn’t change that.”

From the corner of your optic, you can see Starscream give Bumblebee a helpless look. You reach out to not-touch the false spike. You wish you could feel it with your own hands, but just looking at the size of it, those ridges, all of it— It’s going to be amazing. So you tell him.

“This is going to look unbelievable in you. I still can’t believe you’re actually able to take something this large. It must be almost as wide as your panel is. I’m already so disappointed; I won’t be able to watch your face _and_ your valve while you take it. I don’t know how I’m going to choose. Unless sometime you’d be willing to repeat this performance again for me?”

And you hear his fans. You don’t let it show on your face, because you are absolutely not going to give him such a convenient excuse to be difficult. But you’ve never been so pleased with yourself. When you look up to his face, your smile may be a little self-satisfied, but it is entirely genuine. “Say the word and I’ll leave. But I do absolutely want to be here for this.”

He still looks lost for half a nanoklik before he pulls himself together and sneers down at you. “A little overeager, don’t you think?”

Your smile gets even more aggressively sweet. “Where’s the shame in admiring you? I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t worth having.”

Now you hear his fans stutter. He’s staring more than he’s sneering now. You can feel Bumblebee’s optics on you too. They both seem to be at a loss for words. And— You’re savoring that little victory, you definitely are, but you don’t know where to take things from there. If you go on like this, it’s going to look silly, and you’re going to undo all your progress and Starscream will be even _more_ insufferable.

But like before, Bumblebee defuses that tension. He touches Starscream’s leg— Not an actual touch, just enough motion to get Starscream’s attention. When Starscream turns to him he says, “Enough encouragement?”

You wince, a little. Starscream isn’t going to be cooperative with _that_ kind of nudge. But something in the way Bumblebee smiles at him, something about that is soft enough that you see _Starscream’s_ face soften too. Barely anything at all, nothing you would have noticed if you hadn’t been watching so closely (or if you hadn’t spent so much time watching his face in general).

He still shoots you a sideways look before looking back to Bumblebee. “Since you asked so nicely,” he says, and it’s such an obvious, deliberate snub that you know he’s trying to get a reaction from you.

It’s too bad that he’s so genuinely good at being obnoxious. You manage not to say anything, but you catch yourself grinding your teeth. You stop as soon as you notice. But Starscream is watching you from the corner of his optic, and you just _know_ he saw.

But it’s fine, you’ll let him have that point. Because his hand is back between his legs again, and it’s none of those teasing little nothing touches. Now he’s pressing his palm against his panel. You can see the little movements of his hips as he rocks forward against his hand. You can’t look away. He’s smirking again, you know he is, and you don’t care.

When his panel opens, you sigh out loud. And you don’t care about that either. You’re too busy watching him. His array is as beautiful as the rest of him, of course. His plating is bright and striking and flawless, and you can see the glow of biolights along his spike and through his fingers. It kills you that you can’t _touch_ him. He’s finally here, _you’re_ finally here, and you can’t even put your hand on his leg while you watch.

It distracts you when he moves his other hand. And you see the false spike. Ohh, yes, _yes please,_ you can’t believe you forgot about that even for a moment. He’s moving slowly, lining up the spike with his valve, taking his time. He’s teasing you, and you don’t care, you’re too excited that this is _happening_ to care about him being an aft.

Or, it’s happening until Bumblebee shoves a hand in front of Starscream’s face. You jump, just a little, and look guiltily over at him. Your plating burns. You almost forgot he was here.

Starscream sighs and doesn’t look at Bumblebee. You steal a glance at him, and his mouth is a flat, irritated line. He isn’t moving, but he’s staring over your shoulder, at the far corner of your room. Bumblebee waves his hand in front of Starscream’s face again, but Starscream just keeps ignoring him.

After a long moment, Bumblebee sighs too. He says, “Slow down. You can’t take that toy like that.”

“But you said—” You cut yourself off. And force yourself to finish the thought. “Didn’t you say that he could do it?

Bumblebee crosses his arms. “Not like this he can’t. Not unless he wants to hurt himself. Starscream, get yourself ready first. Come on, you know better than this.”

Starscream is pretending the two of you don’t exist. Again. And you’re running face-first into a new revelation about how he doesn’t take care of himself. _Again._

You step sideways so you cut off his view and he has to look at you. “If you tear your valve, you’re going to have to go see a medic. You can’t just deal with that on your own, you’d have to get it treated.”

He doesn’t actually answer you, and he just goes on staring right through your head, but the corners of his mouth turn up in a scornful little smile.

“You’d _have_ to,” you repeat. You glance over at Bumblebee, but he’s watching Starscream so closely you’re not sure he even notices you. And Starscream isn’t answering you. You stare helplessly at him. “You’re—That risks damage to your internals, never even mind how much it would hurt. I wouldn’t shut up for weeks if you tried to ignore an injury like that. _Months._ I’d be the most miserably annoying thing you can imagine until you went to see a medic!”

Finally he responds, but, “And how exactly would that be any different from usual?”

Your hands ball up into fists and you fight the urge to scream.

“Hey,” interrupts Bumblebee. His arms are still crossed, but his voice is strangely gentle. Slowly, reluctantly, Starscream turns to look at him. Bumblebee is quiet when he says, “Is it really that bad—? I’d hope you’d know by now that you can tell me if— You know. I’d understand, after today.”

Silence. Neither of them says anything, but you can see Starscream’s wings slowly begin to droop. With all his attention on Bumblebee, you can take another look at the way his hands still have that same tremor as before. You don’t like to watch that, it just makes you feel more guilty, more like you ought to leave, more like you’re intruding and unwelcome. But it’s easier than looking at their faces.

The silence stretches out, the two of them just looking wordlessly at each other, until Bumblebee says, “Then why not have fun putting on a show?” He looks over at you and you jump guiltily, for no reason at all, _augh—_ Bumblebee turns back to Starscream. “I bet she’d like that.”

You can tell when you’re being prompted, but you don’t mind when it’s coming from him. “I definitely would.” You move back in front of Starscream, right between his legs. When you look down at his array, you don’t even have to fake your smile. He really is gorgeous. “I want you to put on a show. I want you to take as long as you can stand. I want to see _all_ of you, and I want to enjoy every moment of it.”

His optics are on you again, and you can just barely manage to catch the way he’s starting to smirk again. _Vanity_ with him, always vanity. But you didn’t say anything untrue, and that smirk counts as a smile, which means that’s is a joint victory for you and Bumblebee.

And he sets the false spike aside on the berth. You feel a little tension go out of your wings. No, it’s just his hands that slide down over his hips, down between his thighs, until his fingers frame his array. He lingers for a moment, and he’s posing, you know he is, basking in the attention— But you don’t _care._

You’re captivated, you can’t look away, you’re busy taking in the view that you step in closer and start to set your hands on his thighs. You belatedly remember that no, you _can’t,_ but by the time your processor catches up, Starscream is spreading his legs even wider, as if you’d parted them yourself. When you see that, you can’t help a little shiver, and he notices, you can tell from the way the corner of his mouth curves upward.

Bumblebee steps up to Starscream’s shoulder and leans in, murmuring something too soft for you to hear. You ought to be attentive or worried or curious or _something,_ but it’s so hard to tear your optics away from Starscream’s hands. He’s stupidly beautiful all over, you already knew that. But there’s something about the way his fingers delicately tease around the edges of his valve, the little touches to his spike, the way his plating shifts with the tiny little movements of his hips— You’re transfixed.

And you never thought this would happen, ever. You wanted, of course you wanted, but Starscream is so much _himself._ It’s unspeakably frustrating knowing that you’re only getting to experience this when you can’t _touch him,_ when you can’t feel him against you yourself, when all you can do is watch. You want to cup your hand over his valve and feel the way he moves under you. You want your hand on his spike watching his face as he responds to every little touch.

You’re distracted enough that before you can think it through, you let slip, “I wish I could—”

Nope, not going to go out of your way to give him more things to gloat over. You cut yourself off, but there are already two sets of bright optics fixed on you. Ghh. You take a moment to force the tension out of your frame, out of your wings, your shoulders, you are perfectly relaxed. And then you continue.

“I wish I could do all of this to you,” you tell him. “Everything. All of it. I’m trying to think of what I’d want to do _first,_ but I just can’t decide.”

“Go on,” he purrs.

Vain and obnoxious and _vain,_ but somehow you can’t stop smiling. “Your valve, I think. Since that’s where the toy is going, I’d want to get to know your valve first.” You look thoughtfully at the way he’s touching himself. “Hands are well and good, and I do want to feel every last bit of your plating. But I think— More than anything else, I want to use my mouth on you.”

His spike twitches and you can hear the stutter of his fans. But you still look up at him all guileless and innocent and ask, “Do you think you’d enjoy that? Having me down between your legs? I’d take my time and savor the experience. I’d go slowly at first, just my hands at first. That way I can look at you, and see the ways you move when I touch you. My hands on your array— Not on your node, and not in you. Not _yet._ Does any of that appeal?”

The little shiver than runs through his wings is answer enough. He and Bumblebee are both still watching you. You duck your head, but you can feel your smile getting wider.

“I don’t think I’d make you beg,” you say. “Not this early. So I wouldn’t make you wait too long. I think—” You move as it to spread his legs again, and just like before, he parts them further, as though you were actually able to touch him. “A kiss, first. Nothing much, just enough for you to feel that I’m there. Can you imagine that? Me kissing around and around the edges of your valve, every spot my hands have been, every place I’ve been touching you? I’d draw it out and draw it out, and just when you’re starting to get frustrated and wondering if you _should_ beg, that’s when I’d give in and kiss your valve.”

Right on cue, Starscream presses his fingertips against himself. Not inside, just, just pressed against his entrance, exactly like the kiss you described. You stumble over your words for just a moment, and recover.

“Yes, just like that. And touch your node too.” He obliges, and you sigh happily. “Are you sensitive? Don’t tell me, I’ll figure it out as I go. But with my mouth on your valve and my hand on your node, do you think your systems just might start to run a little warm? I don’t want to overstep my boundaries, but Starscream, from here it looks like you’re starting to build a nice charge.”

You look up and lock optics with him. He doesn’t answer you. But you’re still smiling, and he’s smiling too, and you can still feel that familiar tension between the two of you, but instead of wariness and hostility, for once it feels more like excitement and anticipation. Even Bumblebee is smiling indulgently at the two of you. He and Starscream and still shoulder to shoulder, close enough that you think they’d be leaning on each other if they could.

Starscream says, “I hope you were planning to go a little further than _that.”_

You laugh. “I think it’s time to taste you.”

That gets you a full-body shudder, all the way from his wingtips to his pedes. You look down just in time to see his valve clench around nothing.

“Can you imagine my glossa inside you? I’d kiss you as deep as I could, I want to find every single node in your valve, I want to touch them all and see how you react. I’d be right there, I’d be feeling it every time you moved under me, I’d be feeling just how hot you were running, there wouldn’t be anything you’d be able to hide. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine me being able to feel just how wet you are?”

He slides a finger into himself, and your voice catches for half a nanoklik. “That’s right,” you tell him. “Show me exactly how you want me to touch you.”

You don’t think he means to make that little noise. You could call attention to it and gloat over it and how he _wants_ you— Or you could stay quiet, and if you’re very, very lucky, he might make it again.

“Just look at you.” You sigh happily. The lines of his plating down over his hips and thighs, the way his paint picks up the glow of the biolights, everything is so perfect. “I wish you could see this too. Have you ever had anyone make a recording? Because this deserves it. You really ought to see how good you look.”

The sound he makes this time is definitely more pleased than anything else. He pulls his hand back, but only so he can set two fingers at the entrance of his valve. You glance up at him just in time to see him smirking down at you.

Your voice comes out a little breathless when you say, “Do it.”

And there’s a hand between the two of you. Bumblebee says, “Hold up.”

You’re frozen for a moment— what did you do wrong? But Starscream’s head whips around and he glares at Bumblebee.

He hisses, “You don’t—” And he cuts himself off.

Neither of them says anything for a long moment, as Starscream glares and Bumblebee stares evenly back. You don’t know what Bumblebee is worried about this time. You, you _think_ Starscream does. But neither of them is saying a word, there’s just a long, uncomfortable silence.

Finally, Bumblebee sighs and crosses his arms. “You need to take your time. Don’t argue, you know I’m right.”

“Of course,” Starscream sneers, “I forgot that you were the one with your hands on my array. Of course you’d know what you’re talking about.”

Bumblebee doesn’t look at all impressed. “How long has it been again? Yeah, that’s right. _Take your time._ ” He takes a step back, ignores the way Starscream is still scowling, and looks him up and down. “You know what, get your legs up on the berth. Having a better angle won’t hurt, especially when you get back to the spike.”

This time the silence is much shorter. In much less time than you thought it would take, Starscream swings his legs around—one of them goes right through you, _augh—_ and brings them up onto the berth and lies flat. His face is hilariously sullen, but he does it. You’ve never needed to know so, so badly how Bumblebee ever got Starscream to listen to him.

Bumblebee leans over the berth and smiles at him. “There you go. And just think about how much more space you have to work with now and all the ways you can show off.” He laughs once. “Don’t worry, you can take credit for it being your idea later.”

You half expect Starscream to flare up at that, but he doesn’t. He gives Bumblebee a flat look, but you can see his mouth turning up at the corners.

You’re honestly bewitched. Bumblebee keeps getting all these reactions from Starscream that you never would have expected, and you’re dying to know how he does it, what other faces Starscream will make or what things he’ll say— You want to know _everything._

While you’re still staring, Bumblebee walks past you to stand at the lower end of the berth, by Starscream’s pedes. He glances over at you.

“Are you fine there for now?”

You try not to jump. You’re getting distracted again. And Starscream doesn’t have that almost-smile on his face anymore, he’s just looking at you with that awful, smug expression that means he thinks he’s winning.

So of course you take your time answering. You lock optics with Starscream, then make a point of looking away, looking down his body and back up again, letting your optics linger on his spike. And then you say, “I think I’ll be just fine.”

Starscream spreads his legs without you having to ask. Maybe it’s just that he’s finally decided to stop dragging his heels, but you privately mark that off as a point for yourself. His hand settles down between his legs again. He pauses, just long enough to turn from you and glance down at Bumblebee. He and Bumblebee look at each other for half a nanoklik, and Starscream turns away. He isn’t looking at you, he isn’t looking at Bumblebee, he’s only staring up at the ceiling.

And that means you’re free to stare openly at him as he slides his finger back into his valve. His optics are dim and his mouth relaxed, and you want to see him like this more often. More and more, every day you can. From here, you can’t see his valve, only see the movement of his wrist from the corner of your optic as he touches himself. You’re frozen, just listening to the quiet hum of his fans and watching his face.

Starscream moves, and you jump before you can stop yourself, but he isn’t looking at you. He raises his head just far enough to look down at Bumblebee. His voice is impatient, but that doesn’t carry through to his face when he says, “Well?”

Bumblebee smiles up at him and says, “Go ahead.”

Your fans skip. Starscream turns to you now, and you lock optics with him. You still can’t _see,_ but you’re right here to watch his mouth fall the smallest bit further open, and you can watch the subtle little flickers in his optics as he takes another finger.

“I wish I could be there touching you up like this,” you say. Your voice is soft. “I want to feel you around my fingers as I open you up. I want to feel how tight you are. I want to feel how hot you’re running and how ready for me—”

He makes a low, quiet noise. He turns to Bumblebee again, but before he can say a word, Bumblebee cuts him off. “Not yet. Patient.”

“You’re going to look magnificent,” you tell him.

Starscream smirks. “Of course I am.”

You can’t resist adding, “As opposed to how you _normally_ look.”

He scowls, and even on his back, you can see his wings stiffen with outrage.

But Bumblebee interrupts him again before this can devolve. Again. That was entirely your fault, but you’re still trying and failing to hold back your smile.

Bumblebee says, “Go ahead.”

Starscream turns his head from you, deliberate and with overacted scorn. You try not to laugh. But the laughter is forgotten as he braces his feet against the berth and lifts his hips, pressing up against his hand.

All your words are forgotten for a moment. You can see the strain in his cables where they show in his joints. You’re staring down along his frame, and his valve is still as hidden as it was before, but you see a single drop of transfluid run down his spike. You can’t look away for a moment.

When you turn back to Starscream and meet his optics, you dare to tease. “Perhaps you look a _little_ magnificent right now.”

It surprises a single muffled laugh from him, and a more open laugh from Bumblebee. You think Starscream wants to say something, but he’s distracted from putting the words together. His hips arch further off the berth, you can see all the tension along his arm, in every plate of his frame. He looks at you opens his mouth, doesn’t quite reach speech before his shoulders shift and his hips press upward, and his hand works against his valve. You still wish you could see that properly, but you can’t say you’re at all dissatisfied with the show you’re getting right here.

Finally, Starscream manages, “Bumblebee—”

“Take your time,” he says. “Go easy.”

He makes a wordless noise of assent. You hold yourself as still as you can. You don’t want to distract him from this, don’t want to do anything that could possibly ruin the moment, but you can’t help the little shiver that runs through your wings.

Starscream’s hips are in the air, his frame arched so hard it makes your struts ache—you wish you could sketch him like this, something to remember it by, something to show him later—and you can see his legs shaking. He’s ventilating hard, his optics entirely offline. He’s nearly motionless, but you can see the tension in his arm. You wish you could see his valve— But you do get to see his face, the intensity, concentration, and _openness_ of his expression, and you think that might be even better.

“Slow,” Bumblebee murmurs. “You’re nearly there.”

You can tell the moment he manages to fit a fourth finger in himself because he gasps out loud, and from the corner of your eye you can see his spike jump.

It slips out of you before you can help it. _“Beautiful.”_

His optics come online, and before you can manage to look away, the two of you lock gazes. Your plating burns, but you aren’t backing down now and embarrassing yourself even worse.

The moment stretches, nearly long enough to be awkward, but you didn’t mean to say that out loud, you aren’t sure where you should go from here—

But Starscream speaks up first. His voice is breathless and uneven, but he says, “Go on.”

You laugh once before you can help it. “Me? I think you still have a little further to go. If you really can take that spike, I’ll admire you all you want.”

He moans, soft and quiet, and tries to grope around with his free hand for the toy. You can see it just above his wing, and try to hand it to him before you— remember. You do manage to hide your wince this time. “Shoulder,” you tell him. “Just a little further up— There you go.”

He does get hold of the toy eventually. He smirks again, holding it in his hand and turning it over, looking all the texture, the little ridges, the sheer _size_ of it. He still gasps when he pulls his other hand from his valve. His hands are both shaking as he tries to get the spike situated between his legs. You’re transfixed, you can’t quite look away, you know there’s, there’s _something_ you ought to be doing right now, but you can’t collect your thoughts well enough to remember what.

“Hold up.”

A frustrated noise slips out of Starscream, and it nearly manages to hide the near-identical noise that you make.

Bumblebee smiles at that, but he doesn’t relent. “You.” He points at Starscream. “Aft on the berth. If you slip and knock your hips out of alignment, neither of us is going to be able to help you.”

Starscream doesn’t even bother pretending to complain this time, he just listens. His legs part beautifully, falling wide open. You still don’t have the best view, but you can see him holding the toy in both hands, getting it ready, lining it up with his valve—

You hold a hand up in front of him. “Starscream. _Starscream.”_

He snaps. “What _now?_ ”

“You still have to choose. Am I going to watch your face or your valve for this?”

His mouth is already open to say something scathing, but when you say that, he freezes. He starts to turn to look at you, but he stops himself. He starts to look down towards Bumblebee too, but that doesn’t go anywhere either. He just stays right motionless right where he is.

“If you don’t pick, I’m not going to watch either,” you tell him. “So you have to choose.”

If you don’t get to watch either of them, you’re going to be so frustrated you try to throttle him again, just wait. Though you won’t lie, the trapped look on his face is one of the best things you’ve seen all day. He looks suspiciously at you, and you try not to laugh, and just smile sweetly at him.

You think— Hm. If the two of you had a little more history in the berth together, you might want to play those games where you tell him to pick an option, and go with the one he didn’t choose. And from the expression on his face, you’d guess he thinks that’s exactly what you have planned. Even Bumblebee’s face is a little suspicious, and it’s so, so hard not to laugh at the way both of them are looking at you. Watch, you’re going to aggressively respect every little request Starscream makes, just to spite him.

The silence stretches out, until finally he turns his head away from you, and mutters, “...face.”

You lean forward over him, chasing him as he looks away. “What was that,” you tease, “you want me to look at your face? You want me to look at your face while you split yourself open with a spike the size of my wrist?”

That makes him turn back, but only so he can glare at you.

Before he can think of anything to say, you cheerfully add, “You’ll have to narrate the experience for me so I know what I’m missing.”

Bumblebee cuts in. Which is… probably for the best, all things considered, if you want this to actually go anywhere. He says, “You can let up, I’ll keep you posted.” And then he turns his optics to Starscream. “As long as you’re fine with it?”

Starscream smiles for Bumblebee, though you’re almost sure this time it’s partially (mostly?) to spite you. “Of course,” he says. He takes a deliberate sideways look at you, then turns back to Bumblebee. “I don’t have a problem with anything _you’ve_ done.”

One, you refuse to react, because you’re not rising to that bait. Two, you just, _just_ saw the two of them sniping at each other before this started, so you _extra_ refuse to rise to such obvious bait. You just keep smiling like you didn’t hear him trying to be snide at all.

“Go ahead,” says Bumblebee. You’re so glad that he’s here, or you doubt you and Starscream would have managed to get more than a klik in before things devolved into a fight.

Starscream sighs like it’s a hardship, but he lets his head fall back, so he’s looking up at the ceiling. He relaxes, lets all the tension go out of his frame, slowly dims and resets his optics. And then you see his shoulders shift.

“The spike is right up against his valve,” Bumblebee says.

“Take your time,” you tell Starscream, and you can’t quite keep the urgency out of your voice. “I want to appreciate every moment of this.”

He doesn’t properly answer you, but he does glance your way and smirk, and it sends an excited thrill through your spark.

“There it goes, just a little bit of it. Don’t rush it.”

You aren’t sure whether Bumblebee is speaking more to you or to Starscream, but you don’t care. You thought it would be more disappointing to not be able to watch Starscream’s, but his face— You don’t _want_ to look away. From here, you can see every little shift of the cables in his shoulders, all the tiniest changes of expression. The way his optics go dim and lazy. The way his head tilts back, pressing further into the berth.

There’s a small moment of tension and release, and Bumblebee says, “That’s the head. Keep going just like that, keep taking it slow. It’s all wider from here.”

You’re transfixed. Even if Bumblebee hadn’t said that, you would have been able to guess, from the way Starscream’s mouth falls open. He takes in extra air, even though you can already hear his fans running hard. His optics flicker off for just a moment before they come back online. He turns his head just far enough to meet your gaze, and this time, he doesn’t turn away.

Quietly, you say, “Don’t stop.”

He shivers, and for a moment he arches enough that his hips leave the berth. He lowers them right away, and glances away from you just long enough to give a guilty look towards Bumblebee.

Bumblebee laughs softly. “Nice save. And you’re doing fantastic, just keep it up. You’re getting close to the ridges, don’t rush those.”

Your wings twitch. You’re already holding them high and excited, but. More high, _more_ excited. You bend down even closer to watch Starscream. You can tell when he reaches the ridges because he stops cold for a moment, motionless, before he collects himself and deliberately relaxes into the berth. His optics go offline and stay that way. He bites his lip. Nobody could pay you enough to look away right now.

Starscream’s wings twitch and he gasps, and before you can ask, Bumblebee says, “That’s the first one. You’re doing well, keep it up.”

Starscream makes a noise that’s not quite words, but you think is agreement. He twists in place the slightest bit, tension— and he relaxes again. And again.

“I wish I was doing this to you,” you say. And you flush hot. You didn’t actually mean to say that out loud.

But he’s slower to jump on your slip than he’s been before. His optics boot gradually and he looks blankly at you for a long moment— He tenses and relaxes again, and it takes him a long moment to refocus his optics on you.

You reach out a hand, hovering it just over his chest. “I want to be down there holding that spike, working it into you. I want to be setting the pace and deciding how quickly you can take it and feeling you move under my hands and _listening_ to you. I’d want it so you wouldn’t be able to forget that it’s _me,_ my hands on the toy, doing this to you.

He makes another muffled noise and arches off the berth again before he settles. You let your hands follow his chest as it moves. And, “Or even Bumblebee down there, just like he is now, his hands on the spike instead of yours. If I could be here, right where I am now, holding you down, keeping your hands prisoner— Anything to make it so you’re _ours,_ that you’re at our mercy.” You sigh. “I can’t decide if I want to see how long we can make it last until you crack and beg us to let you overload, or if we should make you climax over and over until you’re overloading dry. I want to take you right to the edge of overheat and take you back down again. I want to have you in my hands and to do _this_ to you.”

Starscream’s fans are running so loud in makes your bearings ache in sympathy. Bumblebee’s voice is very soft when he says, “You’re almost there. Just a little more.”

You ask, “Do the ridges catch on his node?”

Bumblebee starts to answer, but you cut him off.

“—wait. Starscream,” you say. “Starscream. You tell me. You need to tell me yourself. Can you feel that on your node, every time?”

The first time he opens his mouth, his vocalizer glitches out. His voice is still half static when he manages, “Yes—”

You could just purr with satisfaction. “Just imagine. Imagine if I had my mouth on your spike while I was fragging you with that toy. Imagine I could get my free hand on your node and feel that, every single time I moved the toy. Every time I moved it and out of you, I could feel what those ridges were doing to you. From that close, I could feel _all_ of your reactions, I could keep you there just as long as I wanted. I wouldn’t let you overload until I was done with you. And—” You can’t help an excited little shiver. “I think it would be a very, very long time until I was done with you.”

Starscream twists on the berth, and it surprises you enough that you accidentally look away from his face. He’s grabbing for something— Something to do with the spike, but you can’t _see._

But Bumblebee has a better handle on the situation than you do, and he’s leaning forward, his voice steady and authoritative. “Starscream, stop.”

He does stop. He looks down at Bumblebee, frozen almost motionless except for the little tremor still running through his wings.

Bumblebee holds that silence for a long moment, him and Starscream just wordlessly watching each other. Then he smiles. “You’re not done taking it slow yet. No vibration, not until you finish getting the rest of this thing inside you. Then you can get as carried away as you want.”

“ _Fine,”_ Starscream snaps, but there’s no venom in it at all.

He shifts, steadies himself, tenses. Bumblebee says, “Wait, don’t—”

But Starscream is already arching hard, bearing down with the toy. His voice is very slightly unsteady, but _mostly_ it’s just smug when he says, “And now it’s inside me.”

Bumblebee sighs. “And so it is.”

You fidget for a moment, uncertain, but you have to ask. “Are you hurt?”

“Of course not.” He sounds even more insufferably smug now. You grit your teeth. You’re impressed, you’re definitely impressed, but. _Insufferable._

Starscream turns back to Bumblebee. “And if you’ve been quite reassured I’m not going to injure myself—?”

Bumblebee sighs a second time, even harder. You can empathize. But there’s also a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Go for it.”

You still don’t have a decent view of the controls. But you can tell the moment he turns it on, even before you hear the buzz. You can tell when his head slams back against the berth, his hips arch up into the air, and he _moans._

When you glance down his frame, he’s working the spike in and out of his valve. You want— You want to see, you want a closer view, but it’s so hard to look away from his face. You’ve never seen him looking this open before. You’ve never wanted to kiss him so badly. But still, also, you still can’t quite believe that he can fit a toy _that_ large into his valve. You want to see, you want to _touch_ , you want to put your finger against his node while he frags himself—

It takes you too long to realize that Starscream is watching you. You’re distracted, you should have noticed, you really should have. His optics are locked on you. You don’t think he’s quite managing to focus him, but when you finally look down and see him watching you, all his attention is on your face.

He’s grinning. He’s gasping too, his fans are straining, and he has to try twice before he manages words. But he tells you, “You’re wrong.”

You’re wrong— What? Does he mean about the toy? Not thinking he could take it? But that was ages ago, that was just a throwaway remark, that isn’t how being wrong _works—_ And the expression on his face right now is entirely too self-satisfied.

So, mulishly, you say, “I wouldn’t know. I’m busy watching your _face._ ”

He scowls and begins, “And who said—“

“Hey now.” Both of you turn your heads to look guiltily at Bumblebee. His face is exasperated as he looks at the two of you, except for the fond smile he still has. After a moment, he continues, “Windblade, come down here and take a look. I think you’ll be impressed.” He locks optics with Starscream for a moment, and you determinedly ignore the way Starscream preens.

No, you’re much too busy to notice that, you’re too busy walking the couple of steps it takes to reach the end of the berth. Bumblebee moves behind you, stepping to the spot you just had at Starscream’s shoulder. But then you look, and—

It knocks all the other thoughts out of your head, that’s for certain. You were right when you guessed that Starscream’s pelvic span was barely large enough for the toy. His valve is stretched so wide you don’t know how he managed it. Biolights are shining from his array, points of light surrounding the spike. He works it slowly out of his valve, almost entirely free, and pushes it back in. You know he’s putting on a show and you definitely know he’s showing off, but you can’t quite manage to care.

His node is sitting right there too, right at the edge of his valve, and you can _see_ the ridges on the spike catch the edge of it as he moves the toy. You want to touch it, you _need_ to touch it, you have never needed to touch something so badly in your life. You’re already reaching out before you remember that’s not an option.

At least it’s much harder to linger on that with a distraction like this in front of you. His spike bobs with every movement of the toy, and there’s a line of transfluid running from its tip and down onto the rest of his array. The toy is covered with lubricant, and lubricant is dripping onto the berth beneath his aft, and you want to tell him just how eager and wet he is right now, but you still can’t manage to look away from him, never even mind form words.

From this close, you can see his legs shaking, and his hands too. His grip on the spike is unsteady, and it’s _incredible,_ and you want to watch him struggle, and you want to reach out and help him, or take it from him, you want _everything._ You step forward, through the berth, before you even properly think about it, until you’re standing in between his legs, just in front of his array. You can’t touch, but you reach out towards his hips. Just like before, his legs part even wider for you at that gesture.

You can’t look away from the wet slide of the spike and every little catch of the ridges against his node. Or the _size_ of it! It was large from the start, but it seems so much larger looking at it here, buried inside him.

And then a thought occurs to you.

“Starscream. _Starscream._ Sit up, you need to see this—”

You can already tell he’s gearing up to complain as he pushes himself up onto one elbow. But before he gets a chance to speak up, you reach out, with your hand overlaying the spike, occupying the same space as it and reaching up into Starscream. It really is larger than your wrist.

“Starscream,” you say. “Look. You could take my entire hand.”

He stiffens and his hips jerk up for a moment. He struggles further upright, curling forward over your arm, and he’s overloading, you can see his valve fighting to work around the toy, you can see his spike spilling transfluid onto his plating, onto his stomach—

You’re talking, you realize. You’re transfixed, watching him, you can’t turn away. But you slowly become aware that you’re talking quietly to him at the same time, “—beautiful, so beautiful, I wish I could keep you here for an entire day and do this over and over and over. Do it every night and watch you like this every time, I don’t think I’d ever get tired of it.”

He shudders and arches back, gasping for air while his fans strain. His optics lock with yours for a moment before they flicker offline. He’s still struggling to work his hips down against where your hand should be, and you can’t look away from his face and you don’t know how to stop talking.

“Wish I could paint this, paint your face like this. I want to show you what you look like, I want to make a recording of _all_ of this and watch you watch it. I want to find out how many ways I can make you overload, try all of them, watch you every single time—”

You eventually manage to cut yourself off. Starscream is still shivering, hands, legs, shoulders, wings. The toy is still buried deep inside him, and even above his fans, you can still hear it vibrating. You shiver a little yourself, thinking about how _much_ that must feel like, after an overload. Too much, too intense, everything oversensitive and that toy splitting you in two and vibrating relentlessly. But his hand is still on it, holding it in his valve.

He leans backward like that, still holding the toy where it is, until he flops back onto the berth, lying back down where he was before. He throws his free arm over his face, but what you can see past that looks almost more like pain than pleasure. But he keeps rolling his hips into his hand, into the toy, and you can still hear it vibrating against him.

“Starscream,” you coax. “Starscream, you’re done, you can turn it off.”

“No,” he forces out.

Bumblebee steps in close to his shoulder, and starts to reach for Starscream’s arm before he stops himself. He says, “What is it? You want to keep going?”

Starscream takes the arm from his face and sets it at his side, grabbing for the edge of the berth. His expression is more of a grimace than anything else, but he still nods, sharp and jerky.

“Easy,” Bumblebee says. “Take it easy. Take your time. You can start slow and build.”

You step out from where you are and move past Bumblebee to stand next to Starscream’s head. “What do you need from us?”

Starscream’s optics are still offline and his teeth are gritted. He still hasn’t moved to turn down the vibration. And he doesn’t answer.

You try again. “Starscream?”

“You aren’t actually here,” he finally snaps. “You don’t exist. You can’t touch me. You can’t _do_ anything.”

It feels like a slap in the face. You’re left stunned for a moment. You knew— Being a ghost or whatever you are. That you can’t touch him yourself. But you’d forgotten how it twisted in you, hearing that you aren’t real at all. You try not to react, you don’t need to make whatever this is any worse. But. When you glance sideways at Bumblebee, he doesn’t look much happier than you are, just maybe a bit less hurt.

Well. Maybe you’re upset. But also now you’re extra spitefully determined to not let Starscream ruin things by being difficult.

So you allow, “We can’t touch you. But I’m disappointed. You obviously haven’t learned _anything.”_

You pause for a theatrically disdainful sniff. And you’ve guessed right, because that’s exactly what it takes to get for him to boot up his optics again and glare at you. He looks so offended that it’s enough to nudge you back into where you were before, genuinely _enjoying_ this whole experience. You can see Bumblebee watching you from the corner of your eye, but Starscream is the difficult piece of the puzzle right now. So you wait for the moment when he gets impatient and opens his mouth to break the silence, and you talk right over him.

“We can’t touch you,” you repeat. You bend down low over him. “So instead, you’ll just have to find a way to be satisfied with our absolutely undivided attention.

Despite himself, he reacts. You can see the interested flick of the wings, and the way his optics flare the tiniest bit. You smile, slow and deliberate, watching him watch you. You look slowly down his frame, towards his array. You let your optics linger there, just for a moment, and Starscream rolls his hips up against his hand. When you look back at him, his optics are bright and interested again.

You add, “Didn’t I just get done telling you all about how I wanted to paint you and show you just how gorgeous you look? If you really want me to stop, I _suppose_ I don’t need to bother with all that anymore.

He doesn’t take such obvious bait, but it wasn’t there to be taken. He doesn’t look pained at all anymore, this looks like it did before, when it was you and him measuring each other up, appraising and _pushing,_ and circling around each other. He touches himself while you’re bent forward over him, and it feels _right_ again.

Bumblebee speaks up, and you really must be getting used to this, because this time you don’t jump at all. “Starscream, magnetize the spike. Get your hand free.”

You make a delighted little noise before you can help yourself. “It’s magnetized too?”

Bumblebee is smiling and Starscream is _smirking_ , but you’ll take it, on both counts. Bumblebee says, “Just the base, no magnet play. But with a toy this size, there’s only so much you really need.”

“Do it,” you order.

Starscream’s face goes stubborn and difficult, and… right. This is the flip side of keeping him happy. He just becomes a delight to work with. And you don’t care, because getting past this means that you’re _winning,_ and it means that he’s still winning too, so he’ll do it.

You let your voice drop low and soft. “I want that toy locked inside you the way it is now. I want to see one hand on your spike and the other on your node. I want to see the way you touch yourself, and I want to see you being touched _everywhere._ ”

He already looks less disagreeable, but he still drags his heels enough to ask, “And why is that?”

And you can’t even be irritated, you just laugh. “Because you’re gorgeous and I _want_ you, of course.”

That sends a nice little shiver down his wings. You’re pretty pleased with yourself and _maybe_ feeling just the slightest bit smug. Bumblebee is giving you a nice admiring look too, and you know you’re preening, but you can’t even begin to force yourself to feel bad about it.

Starscream reaches down to the toy and presses something you can’t see, but you can hear the click as the base as it locks down against his frame. He looks back over at you and smirks. “And?”

You smile. “You heard me. Get one hand on your spike and one on your node.”

Bumblebee leans forward “You could angle for more compliments, but I think you’ll get better ones when you give her something to work with.”

Starscream snorts, but his smile doesn’t drop. He takes his spike in hand easily, bracing his heels against the berth and lifting his hips into the again. His other hand rests against his array, and you can just see the quiet little movements of his fingers as he touches his node.

There’s just silence for a klik. Almost silence. The noise of Starscream’s fans blends with the soft hum of the toy, and over that, there’s just the soft noises Starscream’s hand makes as he strokes his spike. You ought to be saying something, but you’re having trouble tearing your optics away. You should be— Something about wanting to stroke him off yourself, perhaps? You need to—

When Starscream turns to look at you and Bumblebee, you’re prepared for him to demand admiration. You aren’t prepared when, softly, he says, “Touch each other?”

You’re left completely off-balance. You. Well. Ah. At least when you turn to look at Bumblebee, he looks at least as lost as you feel. The two of you hesitate, just looking at each other for a long moment. You glance back over at Starscream, but he hasn’t done anything else. He’s just watching you, his hand still moving over his spike. You don’t know how to read his face.

All you can do is turn back to Bumblebee. Very eloquently, you say, “Um.”

“Right,” he says.

Both of you just stare at each other. You don’t _mind_ Bumblebee or anything. You don’t really know him, but you don’t know him in a… pleasant way? He’s nice enough, you aren’t exactly opposed to getting casually involved. If he wants. Because… Starscream wants? This has been a strange, strange day. But what’s actually important is that even more than that, you are gradually realizing that you have never in your life been so interested in using your array.

“I don’t—”

“I’m not sure if I—”

Both of you cut yourselves short. You laugh, once, but you think it sounds more nervous than anything. When you try to think about it, you just. Can’t imagine using your array, or even just opening your panel right now. It just won’t click, you can’t make yourself _feel_ it.

You turn back to Starscream. He’s still just quietly watching you. “I’m not sure I… _can_ use my array right now.” You glance over nervously at Bumblebee.

He nods. “Same. I think— Maybe something to do with us being like this? I don’t think I’ve actually wanted anything physical since I died. And it’s been a while now.”

That makes some kind of sense. And also, “That has to be it.” You give him a slow, heated look up and down. “Because otherwise I would _absolutely_ be interested.”

His mouth quirks up in something like his usual smirk, but it doesn’t quite stick. He says, “Then could—”

He doesn’t go on. You and Bumblebee wait, glance from him to each other. But he doesn’t say anything else.

Bumblebee says, “Maybe just—”

He holds out an arm, and you have to choke back nervous laughter. “You mean if we—?” You sidle closer and reach out to him in return.

You put your arm around Bumblebee’s shoulder and he sets his around your waist. You feel silly, but you look over to Starscream and ask, “Like this?”

Starscream doesn’t actually reply, but he doesn’t look away from you either. You lean into Bumblebee a little harder, and Starscream’s hand moves faster against his spike, and his hips twitch upward. You don’t know what to do with this information. You don’t even know what this information _is._

When Starscream finally looks away from you, his head falls back against the berth. For a moment you think he’s turning off his optics to focus on sensation, but— No, he’s staring up at the ceiling. He did that before too. This time you look upward with him.

The metal of the ceiling isn’t especially polished, and the reflections from below blur out into the rough lines of form and incoherent smudges of color. With how close you and Bumblebee are standing to the edge of the berth, it looks like there are just three mechs here, together. And Starscream’s optics are fixed on those reflections.

On an impulse, you reach out with your free hand, letting it rest so it _would_ have been against Starscream’s chest plate. You catch Bumblebee’s attention and give his free hand a meaningful look. It takes him a moment, but he reaches out too, his hand over Starscream’s stomach. You look up just in time to watch the reflection. From this angle, it looks like Bumblebee really is touching Starscream.

You can hear Starscream’s fans stutter. He turns to stare at the two of you. You wonder— You tilt your head, leaning it so that it rests against Bumblebee’s helmet. Starscream makes a muffled noise and twists where he is, pressing up into your hands, as well as his own. His wings are shivering. You can still hear the vibrator inside him, and his face is tense again, that same nearly-pain look as before. But he hasn’t overloaded yet.

Bumblebee beats you to the question. His voice is soft when he asks, “What else do you need?”

Starscream doesn’t answer. He just looks at the two of you, his ventilations ragged and uneven. You don’t know what else to do for him, the way you are now.

Maybe— “Starscream, I need you to turn over.”

He does pause at that. Bumblebee pulls away just enough to look up at your face. Both of them are staring, and you try to ignore the way your plating heats. Slow vent. “Get on your hands and knees.”

His voice is halfway glitched out when he tries to speak, but it doesn’t take much effort to understand his, “Why?”

“Because if you aren’t able to overload like this, you need to try something different. And this is what I’ve picked. Turn over.” His face is starting to set in that much too familiar stubbornly unhelpful expression, so you add, “Also because I want to see how good you look with your wings free to move and your aft up in the air.”

You’re sure he sees what you’re doing there. The way he sighs heavily and the dismissive flick of his wings speak volumes. But he does it, and that’s what counts.

And you can see the way he _is_ affected, the way he must be close. He’s still venting hard and uneven, and the look in his optics is a little dazed. You catch the way he moans when the base of the false spike presses against the berth, or the way his hands shake and his arms barely hold his weight. He’s nearly there, you just need to find the way to bring him over the edge.

He pauses on his knees with his arms braced rigid against the berth. He glances at you, hesitating. Bumblebee cuts in, “Aft in the air, she said.” He steps a tiny big away from you, leaning in closer to Starscream. “You don’t want to miss the chance to show off _all_ of yourself, would you?” He’s smiling fondly, and it gives your spark a little thrill to see the way it coaxes a smile out of Starscream in return.

Starscream does not turn that smile on you. As he settles his cheek on the berth, the look he gives you is half taunt, half smolder, and it sends a jolt through your frame. You’re stepping away from Bumblebee’s arm before you ever consciously decide to do it. You bend down to Starscream at first, but—No, you’re too high, the angle is all wrong. His wings are between you and him, and you can’t look him in the eye. You go to one knee beside the berth, so your head in on a level with his.

“Touch yourself,” you say. Your voice comes out softer than you mean it to.

He reaches back between his legs with one hand. From here you really can’t see much of anything at all. But you have the perfect view of Starscream’s face as he brings his hand to his array. Bumblebee moves to kneel beside you, so you’re shoulder to shoulder, just watching Starscream.

You can hear the hum of the spike still inside him. On a sudden impulse, you ask, “Does the vibration go any higher?”

Bumblebee looks startled for a moment, but turns to Starscream. They lock optics for a nanoklik, and Bumblebee laughs. “If you want—?”

Starscream laughs too, breathlessly, but as he reaches back to the toy, the laugh becomes a long, low moan. Even through his frame, the sound of the spike vibrating is as loud as his fans, and his wings shiver and resettle. You can just barely see him take his spike and hand and begin to touch himself, hard, fast strokes.

He isn’t managing words now. He tries to look at you and Bumblebee, but his optics keep flickering offline, and you can tell he’s having more and more trouble focusing.

He’s getting there, he’s starting to get there, and you wish you could _touch—_ You can’t, so instead you tell him, “You can get your aft further up than _that.”_

Starscream gives you a flat, unamused look, even while he shifts his weight, inching his knees up further, pushing his aft higher, but he barely manages to hold it for even a nanoklik before that expression slides away into that same look of distracted, unfocused pleasure.

“What a good job,” you say, and he isn’t expecting it and moans again before he catches himself. You feel a single laugh shiver through Bumblebee’s frame more than you hear it.

Starscream’s optics are locked on your face—whenever he can manage to focus them. You think he wants more praise. Or, you _know_ he wants more, but you’re torn on whether you should give it to him this easily, or whether you should make him work for it.

You take mercy. It’s been a long day, and it’s been a long evening. So you tell him, “Perfect, that’s absolutely _perfect._ Keep it right there, don’t let it drop. Can you imagine if I was right there behind you, just looking at you like this? I say looking, but if I was there like this— I’d love to get my mouth on your valve from this angle. My hands on your hips, holding you steady. I’d hold you right there until you overloaded, I’d watch you shake apart right like that, can you imagine how beautiful that would be?”

And you hadn’t expected it, but Bumblebee cuts in. He speaks softly. “And me down here, watching while she worked you over. You could hold onto me if you needed something. Or I’d just hold your hands, helping keep you steady until she finished.”

Starscream is making little muffled noises with every stroke of his hand now. He must be so _close._ You wish you could feel him, feel how he moves under you, anything to give you some better idea of what he needs from you. You reach out a hand to hover right against his cheek, trying to imagine what that would be like.

His optics keep flickering offline, so you honestly weren’t sure he’d even seen that gesture. And it takes you entirely by surprise when Starscream reaches up with his free hand and grabs for yours.

He isn’t able to grab it, of course. His hand goes right through the space where yours ought to be, and he’s left clutching awkwardly at the surface of the berth. You— You feel guilty, for no reason that makes sense. You don’t like seeing him like this. You move your hand to cover his, even though you can’t actually touch him, can’t actually do anything.

At least Bumblebee is still talking to him, his hand almost against the side of Starscream’s face, easing him along when your throat has just completely closed off. “Steady,” he says. “You’re almost there, you’re fine, you’ve got this. Just hold onto that feeling, you nearly have it.”

And Starscream gasps and overloads.

It’s quiet. He presses his face into the berth and shakes silently, his wings held so high and tense that it makes yours ache to look at them.

You find your words again. “That’s right, ride it out. You should see yourself right now. Do you even know how gorgeous you look right now?” You manage to keep up a steady stream of words, with Bumblebee beside you doing the same, until he finally stills and slumps, his wings settling.

Bumblebee finds his bearings first. He says, “Up. You need to get up. Not all the way, just at least turn over. If you sleep on your chest, you’re going to complain about aches for days."

Starscream groans, and shifts, but doesn’t get up. Bumblebee is utterly unsympathetic. “You’ll thank me tomorrow for being an aft about this now. Trust me, I can make this impressively miserable until you decide to listen.”

It works. Starscream complains the whole way, and he shoots Bumblebee the most sullen, resentful look you’ve ever seen, but he gets himself upright enough to sit on the berth.

His fans are still roaring, but you do wince when you realize you can still hear the hum of the toy. “Turn that off. And get it out.” He looks blankly at you and you try not to sigh. “Starscream, the spike. The spike that is in you. And vibrating. You don’t want to sleep with that still in there.”

His mouth sets in the most infuriatingly stubborn, _difficult_ way, but he sways and nearly tips before he can actually start to argue. So he settles for ignoring you. Honestly you think he’s halfway into recharge already. You’re not surprised, with how long the day was, but really, it’s something impressive that he manages to be this actively difficult when he isn’t properly awake. After a moment, he looks down between his legs like he’s seeing the toy for the first time and reaches down to switch it off. And you know what. Fine. You’ll take it.

And you’re definitely not smiling watching him.

Bumblebee is the one who bothers him into actually turning off the electromagnets, and then into taking the toy out. Starscream hisses at the sensation when he pulls the spike from his valve, and you think it jerks him further awake than he’s been since he came down from that second overload. He has to go slowly, easing it out of himself, and you wince again at the _size_ of it when he finally gets it free.

Of course then, you get to see Starscream look from the spike, across the room to the compartment he took it from, and back to the spike. He makes very deliberate optic contact with you, reaches out, and just— drops the spike over the edge of the berth.

Bumblebee groans and says, “Starscream—”

But you’re muffling a laugh in your hand, and Starscream is smirking in that way that _should_ be sly, but right now it’s just the funniest thing you’ve ever seen. Bumblebee gives up. He just sighs heavily as Starscream arranges himself on the berth. You hover nearby as he settles in, even though there isn’t actually anything you can _do—_ But Bumblebee is right there with you too, so you don’t feel too ridiculous. Once Starscream is on his back, comfortable, and arranged to his satisfaction (and at least two thirds asleep), he looks at Bumblebee, lazy and slow, then looks to you.

You lock optics with him for a long moment. You reach out a hand to rest on the edge of the berth without quite knowing what you’re doing. His optics flick down to your hand for a moment, then back to your face.

And then slowly, deliberately, his optics dim. His optics stay locked with yours right up until the moment that he finally slips into recharge.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/162622724316/so-many-miles-to-go-spockandawe-the)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [coda](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11426949) by [oriflamme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oriflamme/pseuds/oriflamme)




End file.
